d to the deathful contest did his gallant forces lead,

Ill it fared with Pandav forces, doughty Drona took the field,
Peer was none midst living warriors of the Brahman trained and skilled!

Arjun, faithful to his promise, his preceptor would not fight,
King nor chief nor other archer dared to face his peerless might,

But old feud like potent poison fires the warrior's heart with strife,
Sire to son still unforgotten leaps the hate from death to life!

Wrathful princes of Panchala by their deathless hatred stung,
Saw their ancient foe in Drona and on him for vengeance sprung!

Darkly thought the ancient warrior of the old relentless feud,
Fiercely like a jungle-tiger fell upon the hostile brood,

Royal Drupad's valiant grandsons in their youth untimely slain,
Victims of a deathless discord, pressed the gory battle-plain!

Drupad pale with grief and anger marked his gallant grandsons dead
And his army broken, routed, and his bravest chieftains fled,

Filled with unforgotten hatred and with father's grief and pride,
Rushed the king, and bold Virata charged by doughty Drupad's side!

Rose a cry of nameless terror o'er the red and ghastly plain,
Noble Drupad, brave Virata, lay among the countless slain!

Burning tears the proud Draupadi wept for noble father killed,
Maid and matron with their wailing fair Panchala's empire filled!

Matsya's joyless, widowed princess, for her fate was early crost,
Wept with added tears and anguish for her father loved and lost!

Waged the war with fearful slaughter, Drona onward urged his way,
Fate alone and battle's chances changed the fortunes of the day,

Aswa-thaman, son of Drona, was a chief of peerless fame,
And an elephant of battle bore that chieftain's warlike name,

And that proud and lordly tusker, Bhima in his prowess slew,
Rank to rank, from friend to foeman, then a garbled message flew:

"Aswa-thaman son of Drona is by mighty Bhima slain!"
Drona heard that fatal message, bent his anguished head in pain!

"Speak Yudhishthir, soul of virtue!" thus the proud preceptor cried,
"Thou in truth hast never faltered, and thy lips have never lied,

Speak of valiant Aswa-thaman, Drona's hope and pride and joy,
Hath he fallen in this battle, is he slain, my gallant boy?

Feeble are the hands of Drona and his prowess quenched and gone,
Fleecy are his ancient tresses and his earthly task is done!"

Said Yudhishthir: "Lordly tusker, Aswa-thaman named, is dead,"
Drona hear